A Spy's Life
by cdub77
Summary: Years into the future, the life Michael Westen had fought so hard for is suddenly in danger. Michael/Fiona, OCs, AU
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** A Spy's Life (1/?)**  
Author:** cdub77**  
Pairings:** Michael/Fiona**  
Rating:** K**  
Disclaimer:** Not mine.**  
Summary:** Years into the future, the life Michael Westen had fought so hard for is suddenly in danger. **  
Notes:** My first fic in this fandom. English is not my first language, so please excuse any mistakes.

--

**Chapter One**

_My name is Michael Westen, and I used to be a spy…until I walked away from it all seven and a half years ago and began…lets just say, a different sort of life._

_Eleven years ago I was at the top of my game, one of my country's greatest assets abroad until, well, until I was burned by the people I worked for. I found myself dumped in Miami, without a job and I realized that the only way to get my life back was to find out the reason I was burned._

_A year later, I was able to uncover the entire sordid affair behind my burn notice, which I will share at another time—it makes for a good story, and discovered that during the year in Miami had changed me for good._

_I am still the same guy as I was back then, but there have been some big changes. Huge changes, in fact._

_That's where this story begins._

--

"Dad!" a boy shouted, bursting through the front doors and running down the sidewalk towards me.

"Ciaran!" I said with a big smile, dropping my duffel bag down before crouching down with open arms.

"I'm so happy you're home," he said, wrapping himself tightly in my arms. "I hate when you go away for business."

"Me too, buddy."

"Did you bring anything back from Mexico City?" Ciaran asked, pulling back and peering over towards my bag.

"I might have picked something up for you, but you'll have to wait until later… Where's everyone else?" I asked, looking around at the unfamiliar quiet home.

"Connor's inside working on our science project, Clare's playing in her room and Mom's doing something out back…" Ciaran replied, ticking off the whereabouts of the rest of his family. "Oh, and Grandma was here earlier and said you should call her the minute you get back…"

We walked inside the house together and I quickly placed my bag at the foot of the stairs. I heard the sound of tiny feet coming from the floor above and a second later heard a familiar voice.

"Daddy! You're here!" Clare shouted from the top of the stairs. My eight-year-old daughter was the split image of her mother and was currently decked out in a pretty sundress with two braids.

"Clare bear!" I said, catching her easily as she leapt into my arms. "How's my favorite girl?"

"I'm good daddy. I missed you so much!" she replied in a fit giggles, as I blew raspberries in the crook of her neck.

I shifted Clare onto my hip and quickly placed a kiss on her temple. "And I missed you, too, sweet pea."

"She cried the entire day when you left," Ciaran said.

"Did not!" Clare replied adamantly, sticking out her tongue at her older brother.

Ciaran stuck out his tongue in return. I chuckled at the sight before me.

As Clare continued to babble away about what I had missed the last four days, we walked into the kitchen. Sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over a clay model of a volcano, was my son Connor.

He looked up and gave me a smile.

"Hi dad."

"Connor," I said with a nod. "What are you working on?"

"Ciaran and I are making a volcano for the science fair next week."

"It's going to be so cool! Mom said she's going to show us how to make it explode!" Ciaran said, rejoining his brother at the table.

Leave it to Fi to incorporate some sort of explosion for the kids' science project!

"That sounds like fun. You'll explain it to me later?"

"Uh huh," the two boys said in unison, turning back to the model in front of them.

"Can I have some chocolate milk Daddy?" Clare asked, giving me a smile that she knew I could not resist.

I sat her down on one of the kitchen stools before pouring her a glass of milk.

"Did you say your mom was out back?" I asked, taking a spoon as I popped open the lid.

"Yeah, she's been back there since Grandma left this morning," Connor replied.

Realizing that the kids would be fine, I made a quick detour back to my duffel bag to grab something out of it before cutting across the kitchen towards the side French doors that led to the backyard and pool.

I found my beautiful wife busy working on one of her favorite hobbies—gardening. Even after all these years and giving birth to three kids, she still looked amazing. She still turned heads whenever we went out and prided herself in keeping herself in tip-top shape. _I can't fall apart and have your eyes wandering, Michael_ she would always say with a smirk, knowing full well she had nothing to worry about. She just enjoyed keeping in shape…plus, she was still a big part of Westen Corporation and took part in many cases when her expertise was required…

She was deep in concentration over a new hibiscus pot, her back turned to me.

"Are you just going to stand there all day watching me Michael?" Fi said, breaking the silence as she continued to work.

"I didn't want to interrupt you," I said, with my hands behind my back to hide what I was holding.

"Oh, you know me, life's no fun without interruptions," she said, turning around with a brilliant smile. "Plus, I haven't seen you in four days and you know how attached I've become to you," she finished, adding a wink for emphasis.

"So, you missed me, huh?" I said, looking down at her as I stood next to her.

"Terribly," she said, leaning up to place a tender kiss.

"I've missed you and the kids, too."

"Did everything in Mexico go well? You and Sam stayed out of trouble?" Fi said, drawing back and searching my eyes for the answers.

"Everything went as planned," I replied, "the client was more than happy with our results."

After my retirement from covert ops, I launched my own security consultation company. In the years since then, we've developed a pretty strong reputation in getting the job done efficiently and effectively. With the team I had in place—still centered around myself, Fi, Sam and even my brother Nate—we kept busy with various jobs and assignments.

"I hope Sam bought an extra special something for Veronica to make up for missing their anniversary…"

"Ugh, don't remind me. The whole trip all he talked about was the different ideas he had to 'make up' to Veronica for missing the big day…"

"If it makes you feel any better, Sam called me a few times with ideas, too."

"Well, you are his 'girl consultant'…" I said with a smile. "Enough about Sam, tell me what's going on with you and the kids…what's on the schedule for the rest of the day?"

"The twins have to work on their science project…it's due on Monday. I promised Clare we would hit the mall today—she wants to go shopping for big girl shoes…" Fi said with a smile.

"I take it that you two can handle that on your own? I'll keep an eye on the boys."

"Of course," Fi said, winding her arms around my neck and reaching up for another kiss. She trailed her lips towards my ear and I sighed as she nibbled on an extremely sensitive spot.

"Are you going to show me what's behind your back, or do I have to force you?" she whispered.

"Oh right, I forgot about that. I got you something…" I said, showing her the object I was hiding.

She smiled at the snow globe—it depicted a mariachi band in a Mexico City square. She took it from my hands and gave it a shake.

"A Mexican snow globe? I find that a bit odd…"

"It took me forever to find it…but, a tradition in a tradition."

She leant up and gave me another kiss.

"Thank you. We're going to need to add another shelf to the display."

Fi's snow globe collection has grown considerably over the years. She was still in the habit of buying one to commemorate every job she did and I began doing the same. The walls of our office were lined with snow globes and the kids were into them as well. We had snow globes from Disney World and San Diego Zoo mixed in with ones from Istanbul, Seoul and Copenhagen.

"How was your flight? You look all…frumpy," Fi commented, noticing my disheveled appearances.

"We had an early morning flight."

"Go take a shower…you need it. I'm almost done here…I'll check up on the kids and maybe I'll join you…you know, give you a proper welcome home," she added suggestively.

I wasn't going to argue with that. I proceeded back towards the house as Fi turned back to her plant.

"And, don't forget to call your mother!" she called out, "she was saying there was something important she had to discuss with you when she came by this morning…"

Yup, I was home.

--

_Family has become a big part of my life now… I never saw myself settling down and planting roots anywhere, but that has totally changed. _

_To go back over ten years ago, as the dust settled and the truth from my burn notice came out, I realized that despite everything I had said and put her through, Fiona was still at my side. She was my partner in crime, my shadow, my confidant and I discovered that she was the one person I've grown to trust and count on._

_With the burn notice no longer in affect, I could have left Miami and picked up where my old life left off. I was in the process of packing up my loft when I realized that I didn't want to leave; that I was happy in Miami and more importantly with the people I loved. _

_One thing led to another, and after a lengthy period of soul searching on both our parts, Fi and I decided to give our "relationship" another go, and see what would happen if we really did put the time and effort into it. That led to an awkward period of "dating"—I mean, I wouldn't even call it that when you know the person so well and have all this history with them. One week of dating led to a few weeks, which led to a month and then another…and before we knew it a year passed and we were both still happy and in love with each other._

_Maybe I gave this love thing a bad wrap in the past, but it was a pleasant surprise to discover that I could be in a healthy relationship with a woman. Not just any woman, but a woman that knew all the skeletons in my closest and understood my psyche and actions. She didn't ask any questions as I ran around with various jobs and oftentimes was right there beside me._

_And then, a huge surprise came. Fi woke up one day extremely sick—I could count on one hand the times I've seen her sick at all. We realized that something must be very wrong when a week later she was still not feeling any better. A series of tests were taken and we sat together at her doctor's office, expecting the worst of news possible. We had to collectively pick up both of ours jaws from the floor of the office when her doctor announced with a big smile that we were expecting._

_Fi was going to be a mother. I was going to be a father. _

_Shit._

_But, we rallied, and together we surprisingly handled the news calmly. In fact, deep down, I was pretty excited about the baby's arrival and I think Fi's maternal side started to kick in and she became the posterchild of an expectant mother._

_We both read through books like "What to expect when you're expecting" like they were field manuals and Fi was popping prenatal vitamins and signing us up for new parents' classes. She was even abstaining from exposing herself to any of the materials and devices that were commonplace in her life—it wasn't good for the baby to be around things like paint thinner and explosives. We were taking everything in stride, and I loved every moment of it._

_A few months later we found out that we weren't just expecting one baby, but two. Dr. Reyes had to suppress her smile at our reaction to her news. We had just wrapped out minds about one baby, and now we had to get ready for two. Turns out that multiples ran in Fi's large Irish family…_

_Picking out the names for the babies was quite a process. We both poured over books that suggested names that ranged from the mundane (I will not have a son named Bob) to the unique (Moonglow Westen has a nice ring to it, right?). We argued a lot about it, I had my list and she had hers. We still hadn't agreed on the names when Fi went into labor three weeks before her planned delivery date. _

_Our bickering over baby names was the furthest thing from my mind as I watched Fi deliver our kids. She's a small woman by nature, and it was difficult to see her in so much pain. But, Fi also had an extremely high threshold for pain (she credits all those years she lived in IRA camps) and delivered a pair of healthy boys seven minutes apart. The doctors were amazed that she was able to deliver the babies naturally without an epidural—that's my Fiona._

_When we met our sons for the first time together a couple of hours later in Fi's hospital room, we were completely overwhelmed by the moment. Identical boys in every way—they had their mother's spirit and my stubbornness already._

_There was still, however, the business of naming them to settle…and I could tell from the spark in Fi's eyes that she was ready to dig in and fight for her names. As I held one of my boys in my arms, I noticed their birthday printed on their hospital tag: March 17. I couldn't believe I didn't realize the significance of the date._

_I told Fi, and a few minutes later we had names for the boys._

_Conner Aedan and Ciaran Dillion_

_Not only were we honoring their birth date, but also Fi's Irish heritage. I was surprised we didn't think of it earlier._

_Soon after we brought the babies home, I did something else that I never thought I would so. I went down on one knee and asked the mother of my children to marry me. I was a bit apprehensive about asking Fi to marry me, especially after hearing many of her rants about marriage as the root of patriarchal system worldwide. But, Fi surprised me by accepting and telling me she had been waiting for me to ask for a long time now. _

_We got married in a small, quiet ceremony on the beach when the boys turned six months. We would have done it sooner, but Fi was relentless in regaining her pre-pregnancy figure before taking the plunge. Fi made a beautiful glowing bride, and I was the luckiest guy around as I watched her walk down the small aisle we created. _

_Surprisingly, marriage and family life suited us well._

_The next year we started our company—Westen Corporation—a mix of security consultation and private investigation. I was the happiest in my whole life and didn't think things could get any better. I was wrong. A few months after the boys turned two, Clare Briana entered the world and completed our family. Fi and I had talked about perhaps trying for one more, and Clare was a welcomed addition to our family. _

_Like her brothers, Clare took the best from both of her parents. She was daddy's little girl and had me completely wrapped around her finger since the first moment she laid her eyes on me. Fi loved having a daughter, and enjoyed satisfying all the "girly" things she liked together with Clare._

_It's been eleven years since I ended up in Miami, and as each year passes, I am more and more grateful of the life I have._

_The only worry I have is that my past—our past—would come back and haunt us. It's something I try not to think about, but it's always hovering there, in the far reaches._

_I'd do anything to protect my family and the ones I love. _

_Anything._

--

"We'll be back in a few hours, ok?" Fi said, grabbing her keys from the mail table and slinging her purse over her shoulder. "Boys, be good for your dad."

Fi gave me a quick kiss before grabbing Clare's hand and disappeared out the front door. I was sitting at the kitchen table, watching as the boys concentrated in following the instructions to make the volcano explode. They both had the single focus mind that Fi and I have when it came to tackling technical tasks. I wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

I felt the phone in my pocket vibrate. Pulling it out, I sighed, as I flipped it open.

"Hi Mom."

"Michael! You're home…why didn't you call me??"

"I just got in Mom."

"Did Fi and the boys pass along my message to you?" Madeline said, ignoring the familiar tone in her son's voice.

"Fi said you had something important to talk about? What is it?" I asked, bracing myself for the myriad of possible answers from my mother.

"Do you remember Ricardo? The gentleman I met a few weeks ago?"

"Yes, I remember Ricardo…you introduced us when we came over for dinner before I left for my trip."

Ricardo was a guy that my mother had met at a wine festival a few weeks ago. I'm not one to criticize or worry about the men in my mother's life…but this Ricardo guy was twenty years her junior and needed a green card. You put two and two together.

"He invited me to go on a week long cruise to the Caribbean with him! Should I go Michael? I haven't been on a vacation in such a long time…"

I wanted to tell her that she shouldn't go…that the guy's motives for involvement couldn't be entirely pure. But, I bit my tongue. If my mother wanted to go on a vacation with him, what was there to loose? Plus, I could take the necessary precautions to make sure everything went smoothly and my mother was safe.

"I think that's a great idea Mom. You deserve a vacation."

"Really?"

"Really."

"I'm going to call Ricky right now to tell him! I'll call later tonight and let you know more about the cruise…"

"That sounds great Mom. Bye."

--

The clock on the oven was telling me it was dinner time. The boys had cleared up their project and had set the table. Lasagna, a family favorite, was in its last stages in the oven.

It had been more than a few hours since Fi and Clare had left for the mall. It was unusual for Fi to not call if they were running behind, but I didn't think anything of it. When it came to shopping, there were times when Fi would lose track of time and place.

The ringing of the phone startled me, and I walked over to the handset and picked up.

"Hello?"

Silence.

"Hello? Who's there?"

I heard a slight whimper and a small whisper.

"Daddy?"

"Clare? What's wrong?" I asked, alarm rising in me quickly.

"Mom's gone…somebody took her…"

"What do you mean she's gone Clare?" I asked, trying to remain calm.

"She was waiting for me to finish up in the bathroom when I heard some shouting and loud noises. When I came out some big guy was carrying her…she wasn't moving daddy," Clare said, sobbing. "And then this other guy told me I couldn't tell anyone what happened if I didn't want them to hurt mom…"

It was happening, my biggest fear.

"Where are you now Clare? Tell me where you are and I'm going to come get you."

"I'm by the bookstore…the man said I should go read books…he gave me a phone to use, but I had to wait until it was 6:30…"

"Clare, stay there. Do not move, do not talk to anybody, and I'll be right there."

"OK daddy. Hurry, I'm sacred."

As I hung up, I quickly jumped into action. I switched off the oven and ran into the adjacent family room where the boys were sprawled out on the couch watching television. They saw my features and quickly knew something was wrong.

"What's going on?"

"I'm going to drop you guys off with Sam…I need to go pick up your sister…and find out what's happening…"

They didn't ask any questions, knowing that this was something serious. They quickly followed me out of the door and jumped into the truck.

This couldn't be happening.

Not now.

**TBC**

Reviews are welcomed, thanks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** A Spy's Life (2/?)**  
Author:** cdub77**  
Pairing:** Michael/Fiona**  
Rating:** K**  
Disclaimer:** Not mine.**  
Summary:** Years into the future, the life Michael Westen had fought so hard for is suddenly in danger. **  
Notes:** English is not my first language, so please excuse any mistakes. Also, I am not an expert of the history of Ireland and what happened there, so please overlook any blatant mistakes on my part.

**Chapter Two:**

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" Sam asked, following me back to my truck. "If this is what you and I think it is, you'll need backup…an extra set of eyes…"

"No, I can do this on my own—I need you to stay with the boys and make sure they're safe…I'll call you if anything comes up."

Sam nodded and watched me as I hastily backed out from his driveway. I could see the boys standing with Veronica at the front door, both of their faces worried.

I pushed them from my thoughts—they would be safe with Sam. I had to focus on Fiona and Clare.

As I drove quickly towards Coconut Grove, I racked my brain on every detail of the last few weeks. Had there been any signs that something like this was about to happen?

Fi and I were extremely diligent in keeping the safety of our family a high priority. Our business and background was ample reason to warrant concern, but we took the necessary precautions. Our home was reinforced with the latest security features and our children had been taught from a very young age important safety rules. Whenever it was warranted, I could assign people from my company to conduct security sweeps and surveillance.

Fi and I were also very upfront with each other if we thought something was amiss. We both had very good instincts if something was wrong and trusted our gut feelings when it came to our family. Fortunately, over the years, our family was never in danger or under any threat.

Until now.

Had I become complaisant? We had enemies from the past that could make one very long list…this couldn't be happening now.

--

I ran up the escalator two steps at a time, making my way towards the section of the bookstore I knew my daughter was at. It was her favorite place to sit with a pile of books, and we could always count on finding her in that spot whenever we were here.

"Clare?" I shouted, looking around the children's section for my little girl.

"Daddy?" I heard a soft whisper.

I spun around and saw Clare walk out from behind a row of books, her hands clutching a shopping bag and a phone.

She ran straight into my arms, breaking out into sobs.

"It's alright sweetie, I'm here now," I said in a soothing voice as I hugged her tightly in my arms.

We were drawing some strange looks from people in the store and I quickly decided we had to take this elsewhere.

As she continued to sob into my shoulder, I made my way back to my truck. Once inside, I turned to her and tried to keep my voice calm and even.

"Tell me again what happened, Clare, every single thing you remember…"

My eight-year-old took a few seconds to compose herself.

"Mommy and I were having a good time at the mall…I picked out a new pair of sandals and we even had lemonade and a pretzel…" she began, trying to remember everything. "We were ready to head home when I asked Mom if it would be ok if I used the bathroom first…so we went to the lounge next to the book store. Mom told me she'd wait outside for me."

Clare began to hiccup.

"I was washing my hands when I heard all these loud noises and shouting from outside. When I walked out, there were these three big guys. One of them was carrying mom—I think they knocked her out because she wasn't awake and I saw some blood on her head…"

The anger inside of me was building as I heard Clare talk…no child should see their parents like that.

"This other man saw me and told me to stay quiet…that if I didn't, they would hurt mom. He gave me this phone and told me I could use it once it showed 6:30… I don't know what else Dad!!" she finished, showing me the flat blue phone in her hands.

There wasn't more she could say…she was too young to pick up on any more details.

"It's ok Clare bear, you did good…we're going to get Mom back, alright?"

She nodded in response and grabbed a tissue to wipe her eyes.

I grabbed my phone and dialed a familiar number.

"Mike, is everything ok? Is Clare ok?"

"Clare's fine Sam…she's rattled about what happened…I need you to do me a favor."

"Anything."

"Send in a team to sweep the premises for any leads…get security footage, prints, everything. They took her outside the ladies lounge next to the bookstore."

"You got it…I'll get our guys on it."

"Thanks Sam…I'm on my way back to your place."

--

_Every spy knows that family and loved ones are usually easy targets. When you want information or something important from someone, you want anything to dangle in front of them to force cooperation. It could be some dark secret, a compromising photo, and, unfortunately hostages. _

_I'm not trying to say that I've never taken hostages to further my goals…but there are some fundamental rules I do not break, especially if hostages are family._

_Fi's abductors broke one of my fundamental rules: children should never be involved. _

_Soon after Clare was born and the boys were two, Fi and I had a lengthy discussion as to how much our kids should know about our past and about our jobs. We both agreed that we couldn't lie to them and that it would be impossible to keep our profession (both past and present) a secret from them. But, we also knew we didn't want out children exposed to the "spy life"—so our family wasn't going to morph into some real-living version of the Spy Kids where we would save the world as a family._

_Give me a break._

_We decided, if the children asked, we would answer their questions honestly. Obviously we would glaze over certain details, but we weren't going to tell our children we were bankers or doctors or whatever alias we could have easily come up with._

_Growing up, the boys thought it was cool that their parents caught "bad guys" for a living. It was easy for them to get caught up in their fantasies and make-believe games about what we did. Their favorite game was to play "International Spies" where they would run around the house in various missions they came up with. _

_As the boys got older, I think they realized the seriousness of what we did. It was no longer fun and games for them. Whenever I went on business trips, they would solemnly wish me luck and had me promise that I would stay safe. They were even more protective when their mother was involved and both had the habit of sticking very close to Fiona before and after her return from assignments._

_While most cases for the Westen Corporation are not dangerous in any aspects, sometimes we would have to do risky things. We often wondered if it was better for the kids if Mom and Dad had safer jobs and if it was irresponsible for us to continue with our chosen profession given the tremendous responsibilities we had at home._

_It's an internal battle that I fight with all the time…and something I don't take lightly. Was I being selfish and cavalier by doing what I do? Was I putting my family in danger if I continued?_

_I still don't have the answers._

--

An hour later, I was in the tech room at the Westen Corporation looking at security footage from the mall. The kids were currently in the adjacent board room, being occupied with a DVD. Jenny, our regular babysitter, was keeping an eye on them (It didn't hurt that Jenny also had military training and doubled nicely as extra protection for the kids).

"These guys are clearly professionals," Sam said, staring at the bank of screens in front of us. We had been scouring all the video footage from the afternoon and couldn't find anything—the corridor where the abduction had taken place was a blind spot in the mall's security.

We had full video of Fi and Clare's shopping trip, footage of them throughout the mall going in and out of shops but nothing of Fi's captors.

"It just doesn't make any sense…if they're trying to send me a message, they should come straight to me…leave my family out of it."

"Have you thought that maybe it doesn't have to do with you? You know as well as I do that Fi's made lots of enemies in her past..." Sam said, taking his eyes from the footage and looked at his worried friend.

"But why now? It's been over ten years since Fi stepped away from all that stuff."

"I don't know Mike. Bad guys don't need an explanation as to why they do things."

"So we have nothing?" I asked, exacerbated.

"Lab results from the corridor will be back in a few hours…maybe we'll get lucky there."

"The phone," I said, suddenly remembering an important piece of evidence.

"What phone?"

"They gave Clare a phone to use," I said, quickly standing and making my way towards the boardroom.

Jenny saw me hovering by the door, and came out to meet me.

"How are they doing?"

"They're doing fine…Clare's still upset…she keeps asking for her mother."

I glanced into the room and saw my youngest hugging her rag-tagged stuffed dog as she watched the video. Her eyes were still puffy—my heart was breaking seeing her like that.

"You're ok with keeping an eye on them for the next bit? We're trying to figure this all out…"

"Not a problem, I'm just doing my job."

"Does Clare have that cell phone with her still?"

"The blue one?"

"Yes, the blue one."

"No, she gave it to me. Do you need it?"

I nodded and she ducked back into the room. She returned with the phone.

"Thanks Jenny."

I took the phone from her and flipped it open. There was a new text message that was time stamped thirty minutes ago.

**Glenanne is safe with us. You'll be hearing from us shortly.**

I pushed a few buttons on the phone.

_Number unavailable._

Great.

I returned back to the tech room.

"They sent a text message," I said, passing the phone over to Sam.

"Maybe one of our techies can trace the number...they can't be that—"

"You know what I find odd?" I said, interrupting Sam.

"Uh huh?"

"Why did they use 'Glenanne'? Who calls Fi by her last name? She officially changed her last name after Clare was born and even before that she rarely used it. Heck, I didn't find out her real last name until three months after I met her…"

"I think it narrows down the people who could be behind this…somebody from Fi's far past…"

Great.

Fi's past with the IRA makes my time as a covert operative look like cake walk. She joined the cause as a teenager and built herself quite a reputation in a short period of time. Before long, she was within the circles of the most senior members of the organization and was to the go-to girl when it came to firepower and explosions—which meant, she was kept quite busy. I don't even know the full extent of Fi's past exploits and the people she had crossed...

"You still have connections with your old buddies in the UK?"

"I'm on it Mike, I'll see if there's any talk."

"Thanks Sam."

I had research to do.

--

_Married couples usually have wonderful stories to tell and share when asked the annoying "how did you meet?" question. You know, when boy meets girl, boy falls for girl, stuff like that._

_For your average couple, answering this mundane question doesn't require much thought. They can rattle off the story with their eyes closed and wrap it all up with big descriptive words, lovely allegories and make themselves look like the second coming of Romeo and Juliet._

_Fi and I aren't like that._

_I met Fi almost twenty years ago. I was working a job in Dublin where I was tracking down a man named McGuire who was pumping firearms into the country and thereby adding more fuel to the fire raging between Republicans and Unionists. _

_I was conducting surveillance at his favorite hangout (aka a Pub) when I saw Fi for the first time. She was working as a barmaid behind the counter, pouring pint after pint and holding her own against the crowd of rowdy customers._

_As McGuire continued to throw back beer with his buddies, I found myself watching the beautiful woman behind the bar more and more. There was something about her that I couldn't place, but she had me absolutely captivated. I had to look away a few times as she caught me staring at her and I began to question whether my spy skills were degrading. _

_Turns out, Fi was there doing her own surveillance. The IRA had sent her from Belfast with the assignment to track down where their enemies were getting their arms and she had her sights set on McGuire._

_We struck up easy conversation through the night when I sat down at the bar—I kept an eye on McGuire as I became more and more entranced with the beautiful barmaid with the captivating accent. It wasn't until a few hours later, as McGuire was waiting for his car out front that I realized the barmaid's true colors. We were both looking out towards the street when she asked nonchalantly if I was scared of loud noises. I told her I wasn't and she gave me a big smile and then … BOOM. I looked up and McGuire's car was completely engulfed in flames as people on the street screamed and ran for cover. _

_I looked over at the barmaid in complete shock. She smiled, shrugged her shoulders and told me she loved loud noises. By the time I realized what had happened and the role she must have played, she had disappeared through the back door._

_That was the first time I met my future wife. It wasn't until a few months later when I was back in the country again that we crossed paths once more and "proper" introductions were made._

_Needless to say, the story we tell of how we met skips over the gunrunner and car bomb. But, we really did meet at an Irish Pub…that much, is at least true._

--

"What exactly are we looking for Mike?" Sam asked, as I went through boxes of paper, photos and files.

"I remember Fi talking about how she kept a list of former associates that she fell out of favor with. She would also joke about the list—saying I wouldn't want to end up on it, but I think it's real…it has to be here somewhere…" I muttered, digging some more.

We were now back at our house—namely, the hidden bunker under the house that only a select few knew existed and had access to. Sam has his storage locker, Fi and I have this bunker.

We had carefully added this addition to the house during renovations prior to moving in. We designed it ourselves and the bunker had different purposes. It stored some of the more confidential and sensitive files in both of our lives and also served as a safety valve if our home was ever to come under attack. While Fiona was no longer a quote unquote "gunrunner" anymore, she still…eer…she still liked to collect firearms. And, the bunker was home to quite a collection of firepower that could be used in case of emergencies. There was also a security hub in the bunker where all the hidden cameras in our house could be accessed and tape could be reviewed. Simply put, the bunker was an off-limits place for outsiders and provided peace of mind for us.

"Are you sure it's real? That it's here with all of this stuff?" Sam asked, pulling out a fire red wig from a box and throwing it to the side.

"We won't know until we look."

Fi had several boxes and trunks that she stored down here. They were shoved into the back corner away from everything else. When I asked her what was inside, she said stuff from her old life and family things. Knowing that both things were touchy subjects for Fi, I didn't press her for more.

I flipped through a box of childhood photos and knickknacks when I noticed a wooden box at the bottom of the trunk. I pulled it out and examined it closer. It wasn't any larger than a milk carton and had smooth lacquered panels with intricate carvings on the side.

I unclasped the hook and flipped the box open. Inside I found a few pieces of jewelry including what looked like a baptism necklace and a Claddagh ring. I noticed that the bottom of the box could be opened through a small edge and discovered some papers pressed neatly into the bottom.

Putting the box aside, I took the small wad of paper and flipped through them quickly. There was Fi's birth certificate, her baptism record and other official looking documents that were written in Irish Gaeilge. At the very bottom I found a simple sheet of paper without any distinctive markings or titles. The only writing on it was about twenty words in handwriting that I knew was Fi's.

"I think I have it," I said, putting the other papers back inside the wood box.

I looked at the words, trying to understand what it meant.

"What does it mean?" Sam asked, looking over my shoulder at the page.

"I'm not sure."

I had to find out.

Fi's life could depend on it.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** A Spy's Life (3/?)**  
Author:** cdub77**  
Pairing:** Michael/Fiona**  
Rating:** K**  
Disclaimer:** Not mine.**  
Summary:** Years into the future, the life Michael Westen had fought so hard for is suddenly in danger. **  
Notes:** English is not my first language, so please excuse any mistakes. Also, I am not an expert of the history of Ireland and what happened there, so please overlook any blatant mistakes on my part.

**Chapter Three:**

_Sometimes the best plan of attack is to stop, take a moment, collect your thoughts and really think something through. Plans that are hastily put together usually fall apart the minute something goes wrong. Methodically studying your opponent, coming up with a fall-proof plan (and numerous contingency plans) is critical to any success._

_Not knowing your opponent makes things that more difficult. You don't know their background, what makes them tick and more importantly their weaknesses and vulnerabilities that can be exploited to your advantage._

_An opponent that has the upper hand is not insurmountable—you just have to work harder to get an edge._

_And, as I like to tell my kids—you always have to do your homework._

--

It was three in the morning and I was sitting in my home office hunched over the piece of paper I discovered earlier. I had a box of Fi's papers and files on the table and was pouring over everything, trying to find some sort of connection with the words on the page.

The kids were tucked safely in bed and I had a couple of men watching the house from the street. Jenny was staying in the guest room—I had asked her if she would take on more hours with everything going on, and she eagerly obliged. It was her duty and job to take care and protect the kids, and I was just happy she took her job seriously.

I dropped the pages I was reading on the table with a frustrated sigh. I couldn't decipher the code Fi used on the page…I racked my brain trying to remember all the various code sequences I knew my wife used. Nothing was clicking. It also didn't happen that a lot of the writing was in Gaeilge, which, unfortunately, wasn't a language I was familiar with.

A sudden noise startled me from behind. I turned around, my hand firmly gripping the gun that was hidden underneath a file on the desk.

"Daddy?"

I relaxed when I heard the familiar voice.

"What are you doing up Clare?" I asked quietly, as she emerged from the dark hallway and into the office.

"I can't sleep," she said sadly, walking over to me and climbing onto my lap.

"You must try sweetie, I know it's been an upsetting day, but you need to sleep…" I soothed, hugging my daughter in my arms and gently rubbing the top of her head the way I knew she liked.

We sat in silence for a while, our even breathing the only sounds in the room.

"It's my fault," Clare said, breaking the silence.

"What's your fault?" I asked, confused.

"If I didn't ask Mommy to use the bathroom, those men wouldn't have taken her…it's my fault Mom's gone," she whispered quietly.

My heart broke hearing her say that. I pulled her back from my arms and looked her squarely into her teary eyes.

"Listen to me Clare bear…what happened is not your fault. Whoever took Mom had made plans and it could have happened anywhere."

"If I didn't ask Mom to take me shopping she would have been safe at home!" Clare said, her voice rising in defiance.

"Oh Clare," I said, hugging her tight in my arms again, "don't think like that…you can't blame yourself. We have to think positively and pray for Mommy to return home safely."

"Would that work, if I prayed for Mommy?"

Religion wasn't something I felt comfortable with, even after all these years. Don't get me wrong, I consider myself a spiritual person and whole heartedly believe that there's a greater power out there—exactly what form or name that greater power had, I'm personally not too sure.

Fi, on the other hand, is Catholic. She's not a devout Catholic that goes to Church every Sunday and carries a rosary around wherever she goes. But, Catholicism played and still plays an important role in her life ("you can't just give up your religion, culture and identity so easily, Michael" she would always say to me) and I was okay with her raising our children in her faith.

"I think that's a great idea."

We sat together for a bit longer—until I could tell that Clare had fallen asleep. I carefully picked her up and went down the hall towards her room. As I tucked her into bed again, I noticed that her newly bought pair of sandals was haphazardly thrown on the floor next to her night table. I crouched down and saw that there was something inside the half opened shoebox.

It was a matchbook for a McLoughlin & Sons Pub in Fort Lauderdale.

I gave Clare a quick kiss on her forehead before leaving her room quietly.

I now had a lead.

--

_One of the greatest changes in "investigative work" since I started in this business has been the advent of the internet. What used to take days of work to track down or find out can now be easily done within an hour with a few simple clicks. _

_Google can be a spy's best friend (or worst enemy) and in a matter of minutes, I was looking at the McLoughlin & Sons Pub's website and being pretty impressed at their selection on tap._

_According to the history page, the first M&S Pub opened its' doors in the Boston area in 1913 by Barry McLoughlin. The family operation would expand to two other locations by the 1950s and finally, grandson Jon opened a M&S Pub in Florida in the mid 80s. The business was still very much family run, and the Ft. Lauderdale location made good business as the only authentic Irish pub in town._

_And, after an hour spent googling "Jon McLoughlin" and "McLoughlin & Sons Pub", I had compiled a pretty decent background of the owner and his business. I would get my guys to do some more digging through more sensitive channels the next day._

_The problem, however, with the internet is that sometimes you discover things you don't want to. People think that whatever they put and share online won't be seen by many people—in reality, everyone and anyone can stumble across it. There's no hiding it._

--

I sat in front of my computer, completely confused at what I saw on the screen.

I was about to call it a night when I decided to click on the 'Photo Gallery' link at the M&S Pub site. A standard collection of photos sorted into what seemed to be a dozen albums appeared and I randomly clicked on the one labeled 'Celebrating 100 Years of McLoughlin & Sons'.

I scrolled through a series of photos until something caught my eye, or specifically, someone. _It couldn't be._ I double clicked the image to view it in a higher resolution and got the confirmation I needed.

The photo was a group shot of what had to be over fifty people…they were all standing around a large cake shaped into the number '100' and smiling for the camera. On the top left corner, squished between a very tall guy and a red-headed woman was Fiona.

What was she doing there? I racked my brain to place our lives four year earlier and I was almost positive that we were never in Ft. Lauderdale, and more importantly, Fi had never mentioned attending such party.

What was going on? It didn't make any sense.

--

_Truth will set you free._

_I think I've heard that line said a million times—it's one of my mother's favorite sayings, and she's constantly pulling it out every time she suspects that I'm lying to her or withholding the truth._

_There was a time when I was the master of masking the truth. My vocabulary included all these words that could make nonsense sound real. I was quick on my toes, and could come up with cover stories and reasoning at the drop of a hat._

_The problem with this skill is that most of the time I can spot a liar and lies a mile away. This ability isn't all that hard to master, as humans naturally produce tell-tale signs that they aren't being honest—like increase in perspiration, stuttering in speech and eye avoidance._

_Honesty in a marriage is key. Lying to your spouse is a big no-no and couples that are able to communicate openly and truthfully more often than not have a stronger relationship than those who don't._

_When the couple in question also happens to lead the lives Fi and I do, truth and honesty become that more important. Over the years I've grown to trust Fi completely—I wouldn't think twice in sharing sensitive information or putting my and the children's lives in her hands (to put it mildly). I know she has my back, and I have hers._

_Developing this level of trust takes time and work. It doesn't happen over night and requires constant commitment and dedication from both sides. In the early years of our relationship, I learnt the hard way many times what could happen if I were to break that trust—I've spent many a nights in the dog house or given the cold shoulder._

_But, when you've established a certain level of trust, it a whole new ball game. You're both on the same page when it comes to various things and it not only takes your relationship to a whole new level, but it becomes a powerful tool that can be used._

_When you start doubting and second guessing that established level of trust, things get complicated._

_Fast._

--

I had a restless night—I barely slept a wink.

It was lunchtime and I was sitting with Sam and my brother Nate at one of the outdoor tables of _Carlito's_. My second cup of Cuban espresso arrived as I refocused my thoughts on the conversation happening at the table.

"So you're sure that Fi never told you about this trip to Ft. Lauderdale?" Nate asked, taking a big bite out of his Cuban sandwich. "I mean, it's a quick trip…"

"Fi and I have an understanding that we keep each other informed to the places we go—in case something happens. I mean, maybe since it's so close that she didn't bother telling me…but it can't be a coincidence that the same place on the matchbook has a photo of Fi…"

"It's an Irish Pub for goodness sakes! Fi's Irish! Maybe she was homesick and wanted a pint of ale and some corned beef!" Sam said, his mouth half full. "And, if this place is as good as it says it is…"

"That still doesn't explain the matchbook."

I had spent the better part of the morning trying to find the connection between Fiona and McLoughlin's. I tried every form of code breaking strategy on Fi's page, and still came up with nothing. The more I dug, the more frustrated I got.

All of a sudden, I felt the phone inside my jacket vibrate. It was the blue phone.

"Hello?" I said, keeping my voice even. Sam and Nate stopped talking and grew quiet.

"Mr. Westen, it's nice to finally speak to you," a deep male voice responded in a thick Irish accent. "I've heard many things about you."

"So you must know that anybody who messes with me or my family always pays a high price."

"I really don't think you're in the position to be making threats…your wife is just so beautiful…"

"If you touch or hurt Fi in any way…" I said, my voice growing in anger.

"I know, I know…you'll come after me and I'm a dead man."

I seethed at his nonchalant tone.

"We both know that Glenanne is more than capable of taking care of herself…she's been through a lot of things more traumatizing than a simple abduction."

"What do you want?" I said, cutting to the chase. "You're not holding Fiona for fun…lay out your terms."

"Ah, that's where you're wrong Mr. Westen. It's actually been quite pleasant catching up with your wife and fully acquainting each other after such a long time…" the voice said, with a laugh.

"If you lay one hand on her…I swear to you that…" I repeated, my voice raising.

"Don't worry Mr. Westen, as I said already, Glenanne is more than capable of taking care of herself."

I gripped the phone tighter. I hated a person who spun circles and wasted time.

"This call is just to tell you that your wife is safe. We need her cooperation for a few weeks and then she'll be returned to you safely. You don't have to worry about her—I promise she's in good hands."

"Take me instead. I'm just as qualified as Fi and can help you out in whatever you're trying to accomplish."

"How touching. But, you're of no use to us. There are certain things your wife knows that even you aren't aware of—that's why she's the only person for the job."

"Let me speak to her—I want to make sure she's alright."

"Sorry, can't do that. Maybe in the future if you both cooperate with us. I'll be in touch again soon. Take care of yourself and your family Mr. Westen, slán libh."

I closed the phone and dropped it on the table.

"Did you get anything?" Nate asked.

"I think whatever is happening is much larger than we think it is…they need Fi for something specific and we need to find out who they are and why Fi is so important."

It was time to do some leg work.

--

_Fiona doesn't talk about her past much. What I know comes from the period of our lives when she served as my main asset to the IRA. Beyond work stuff, I knew the basic when it came to Fi's family and her upbringing. _

_This is what I know:_

_Fi was born in Armagh, a city in Northern Ireland about 30 miles from Belfast. Her father was a salesman and her mother a bookkeeper for a local inn. She was the youngest child and only daughter in a family with three older brothers—needless to say, Fi grew up in a rough and tumble environment and did not get any sympathy from her brothers for being a girl or was treated any different._

_Fi was a troublemaker as a child and had no interest in school. She was constantly running around the rural backwoods of Armagh and getting in trouble with her brothers and cousins. In short, she had your average upbringing in Northern Ireland and was relatively insulated to the political and historical tensions raging in her homeland._

_That all changed when she was fourteen and her happy life changed forever. To put it simply, her eldest brother was beaten viciously when a group of drunken men accused him of being a Republican after attending a football match. The men turned out to be staunch Unionists who took it upon themselves to "rid" their country of radicals. Her brother was beaten up so badly that it caused serious damage to his spinal cord and was now a paraplegic. Following that, her mother was attacked in the streets because her employer at the Inn was a staunch Republican. You could say that these moments in her life "awoke" Fi to the cause and a few years later she would leave home and join the ranks of the IRA._

_Fi's family still lives in her childhood home in Armagh after all these years. I hadn't realized, but Fi had kept in close contact with her family since she left home at sixteen—in the early years, she would go back to visit if she could and called constantly. _

_Unlike my situation with my mother when I first returned to Miami, Fi knew family was important. Even though she was unable to be with her family in person, she always made a point to let them know she cared and thought about them a lot. Family, after all, was the catalyst that propelled Fi down the road she did…it was for her family that she left home._

_I met Fi's family for the first time shortly after Clare was born. I had suggested that there wasn't any reason why we couldn't make a trip to Armagh—she could introduce her family to our family. After being away so long, when we finally touched down in Belfast, I could tell Fi was overwhelmed and happy to be home. We made the short drive to Armagh and were welcomed with open arms—Fi's parents were overjoyed to have their youngest child and only daughter back home, especially considering everything they had been through. Their joy only grew tenfold when they met their sixth, seventh and eighth grandchild and was simply elated at the choice of their names._

_We spent two weeks in the Armagh countryside and I had never seen Fi so happy—there was a special spark in her eyes and I knew the trip had been long overdue. Needless to say, we promised that we would be back and that the kids would be fully aware of their Irish roots._

_We've been back to Armagh twice since that initial trip—the kids love visiting their Irish relatives and Fi gets to truly be herself for awhile. _

_Ireland's a happy place for our family, but was there more to it then I had realized? There were times when Fi would make day trips to Belfast to meet up with childhood friends each time we went back—I didn't think anything of those trips, but maybe this was related?_

_I had to find out._

--

"Michael!" Mom said, getting up from her spot at the kitchen table.

The kids looked up from their plates of mac-and-cheese as I entered the kitchen. Jenny was behind the island, tidying up.

"Why didn't you tell me what happened with Fiona earlier? I would have come right over and helped out with the kids," Madeline said, walking straight over to me with a worried expression.

"It just totally slipped my mind Mom, sorry," I said.

"Have you heard anything? Find anything out?"

Three sets of eyes turned towards me from the kitchen table.

"We're still working on it…I think we're getting close."

"Who would do such an awful thing? She's a mother of three young children, for goodness sakes!"

"I know Mom, I know. We're doing everything we can; hopefully we'll get a break soon."

She started to pace back and forth, worry written all over her face.

"It's times like this that I could use a smoke!" she said exacerbated.

It's been five years and counting since Mom quit smoking (a fact that she never fails to remind me with). Shortly after the boys were born, Fi and I had told her gently that she shouldn't be smoking around them and after some cajoling we were able to convince her to try to quit. After three failed attempts, she finally kicked her habit which we were all proud of.

"Stop pacing Mom, it's not helping."

Looking over towards her grandchildren, who had stopped eating and eavesdropping in on their conversation, she took my arm and nudged me towards the adjoining family room.

"Are you telling me everything? Please, I don't want to be left out in the dark…Fiona's like the daughter I never had…"

"We're trying to track down the leads we have…it looks like it has something to do with Fi's past—maybe with the IRA. It has something to do with Ireland that much we know for sure."

"Is there anything I can do? I'll spend more time with the kids…"

"That'll be great Mom. It's been difficult for them, especially Clare."

"I know, poor girl," Madeline said with a sigh.

I was about to turn back to the kitchen when I stopped. My Mom and Fi really did have a pretty close relationship. Maybe she knew something.

"Hey Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"Has Fi ever mentioned anything about Ireland to you before in your conversations together? Something from her past and time back home that stands out to you?"

Madeline pondered the question for a moment.

"Now that I think of it, there was one time at Poker Night with the girls where we were all talking about the crazy things we did for men. And, not withstanding some stories related to you, I remember her talking about an old boyfriend during her wild years…she gave me a look when she said that, and I knew she was referring to her time with those guerillas…"

"What did she say?" I asked, intrigued at this new piece of information.

"It wasn't much, but Millie was saying how she wasted the best years of her life with her now deadbeat ex-husband…and then Fi chimed in saying she could relate. Everyone was a bit surprised at this, because we all assumed she was referring to you, but she laughed and told us it wasn't you—but some other guy back in the day…"

"Did she say anything else? Give a name?" I pressed.

Madeline took another moment to rack through her brain.

"She did say his name…I remember, because we all toasted Millie's ex-husband Earl and Fi raised her beer bottle and added her guy's name to toast to…I'm trying to remember, it was such a long time ago…"

"Think hard Mom, this could be very important."

"It was Danny," she said a moment later, with authority. "Danny something…he had a very Irish sounding last name, you know, McSomething…"

"Was it McLoughlin?"

"Bingo! That's it. It's McLoughlin because I remember thinking that Loughlin was the same name as the lovely pharmacist at the CVS I see every other week…"

Danny McLoughlin.

I think it was about time I paid a visit to my favorite pub in Ft. Lauderdale.

And, soon.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** A Spy's Life (4/?)**  
Author:** cdub77**  
Pairing:** Michael/Fiona**  
Rating:** K**  
Disclaimer:** Not mine.**  
Summary:** Years into the future, the life Michael Westen had fought so hard for is suddenly in danger. **  
Notes:** English is not my first language, so please excuse any mistakes. Also, I am not an expert of the history of Ireland and what happened there, so please overlook any blatant mistakes on my part.

**Chapter Four:**

_The key in creating a good cover ID is the ability to sell it and make it believable. While you could pour and sweat over coming up with a whole new identity and back story, I find the easiest thing to do is to use people you know or have come across as back stories. That way, you have an established familiarity with the "character" and can draw on that if you find yourself in a bind. _

_Some of my best cover IDs were caricatures of people I knew in real life –from Pablo, our family's gregarious gardener/handyman to Kurt, our accountant at Westen Corporation who had some quirky traits in his personality. It's easy to pretend to be somebody that you already know._

_Over the years I've developed quite an arsenal of identities that I repeatedly use depending on the situation. The exact name and particulars might be different each time, but it's the same character. And, trust me when I say that some of the identities I've come up with have been quite interesting and different. _

_Fi's also excellent with different personas and has a natural ability to get people (especially men) to trust her. She could get people to sign their lives away without even noticing—that's how good she is. Sam can play the bumbling fool to perfection and his cheesy charm is actually quite good and effective._

_But, a good identity is only as good as the person behind it. I like to think that I'm one of the best._

_--_

"I'll be back soon…I just want to check the Pub out and get a feel of who these people are," I said, examining my appearance one last time in the rear view mirror of the Charger. "If I don't make contact within an hour, go to Plan B, ok?"

"Have I ever let you down, bro?" Nate said, reaching up to pull his shades down.

"Famous last words Nate, famous last words," I said with a smile.

I quickly got out of the car and headed towards the Pub that was a couple of blocks away. Nate was my secondary as Sam was meeting with a contact of his that worked in the Irish consulate. I rounded the corner and spotted the Pub down the street. It was standing on its own with a brick exterior and green signage.

Entering the establishment, I noticed that it really was an authentic Irish pub—it had a pretty impressive bar on the left and dozens of booths. The décor looked like a split replica from the ones I've visited in Ireland and my stomach grumbled seeing that the special of the day was steak and kidney pie.

Not surprisingly, McLoughlin & Sons Pub was empty at this early hour. An older lady emerged from a side hallway and greeted me with a warm smile. Perfect.

"Good morning, how can I help you?" she said with a heavy Irish accent.

"Hi, I'm Eddie, do you work here?"

"My son Jon owns this place."

Jon's mother. Even better.

"Great, I was hoping you could help me track down an old friend of mine?"

"And you think I can help you, dear?"

"I think so. I met Danny—my friend—when I was backpacking through Europe for a year after getting my MBA…we ran into each other in Dublin and hit it off," I said, watching her face intently for any type of reaction, "spent two of my best months in Europe with him."

"Am I supposed to know this Danny person?"

"I remember he told me that he had family in Florida that owned a famous Irish Pub—that I should go visit it when I returned stateside. When I returned back to Chicago after my year abroad, we tried to keep in touch but it was difficult as I soon was traveling a lot for work."

"What type of work are you in?" she asked, as she began sorting out glasses that were on the counter.

"I'm in advertising. I'm actually in town for that big conference going on at the Convention Center."

"I wished I could help you, but we don't have a Danny working here."

"Oh, I know that. I thought if I found his American relatives, that you could perhaps give me contact information so I could reach him…I really want to catch up with him, especially since I'll be on a business trip to London next month," I pushed some more, flashing her my biggest smile.

"Well, if you put it that way…"

"Please, any help would be much appreciated."

"I'm not sure if it's the same person, but I do have a nephew named Danny about the same age as you. He and my Jon were born a few days apart, and they were best of friends when we spent our summers back home."

"What does your nephew look like?"

"Um…he's not as tall as you, blonde hair, green eyes…"

"That's him!" I said, excitedly, "is he still living in Ireland?"

"Ireland is still home for him—but he comes out here to visit us often. In fact, he was here a last week for a quick visit."

"He was? Is he still here?"

"I'm not sure…he said he had just arrived from Belfast and had some business meetings in Miami."

"What does Danny do these days? Last time I saw him, he was in between stuff and trying to figure things out…"

"He runs an import-export company—it's the largest one in Northern Ireland. Here, let me give you his card…you should call him to see if he's still in Florida…"

She rummaged behind the counter and produced a small stack of cards. She grabbed the top card and handed it over.

"Thanks so much…" I started, realizing that she never shared her name.

"Ann Marie."

"Thanks so much Ann Marie."

"My pleasure, is there anything else I can help you with?"

"How about a steak and kidney pie to go?" I said, flashing another big smile.

"A boy after my own heart! They should be coming out of the ovens soon, just give me a few minutes to put a box together for you."

"You're a doll Ann Marie."

She smiled and disappeared towards the kitchen. I leaned my elbows back against the bar and looked down at the card in my hands.

Danny McLoughlin, President of McLoughlin Trading Co.

I was getting closer.

_--_

_People that conduct illegal activities masquerade in various professions in some sort of front company. Over the years, I've seen construction companies; pawn shops; electronics repair stores to night clubs. There is, however, one type of business that screams illegal activity and that is Import-Export companies. _

_As globalization continues to take hold, international trading is a must and a multi-billion business. While, there are many import-export companies that do fine work and are essential in the livelihood and order of our daily lives (I mean, how else would you get those designer clothes, exotic cars and international foods?), there is also one thing you can count on when it comes to these companies: many of them deal with trade of the illegal nature._

_Many of these guys are just small players and pawns for bigger fish, but some of them mean business and run high-end, professional operations._

_I had a good feeling that Danny-boy was one of those._

--

"So what's the game plan? Are you going to call this guy up and confront him? Do surveillance on him?" Sam asked as we entered my old loft.

Even after all this time, we still kept the loft. It was hard to give it up when I moved into Fi's condo a few months after we started dating again, so I kept it as sort of a storage/office/safe house location. The place still looked the exact same and I often found myself here when I needed a good place to think.

"I don't think our best option is to confront this guy without knowing more…he obviously has a beef with Fiona or something and if she's as vital as he says she is, I don't think Fi's life is in immediate danger."

"I can call a few of the guys I know that work with the Port Authority…they must know something about him, especially if he's a big time player in the shipping business."

"Perfect. Nate's tracking down info from the phone number and address on his business card, so hopefully that will turn out some more info."

"I think we need to find out what the link between Fi and this guy is. They obviously have some sort of history together…and unless we figure out what that is, it'll be hard to plan anything concrete," Sam said, grabbing a beer out of the fridge.

"I know. I'm even tempted to call up Fi's parents to ask…but I don't want to involve them unless I have to."

"Do you still have any contacts with old IRA members?"

"I've got one of our guys tracking down another asset I cultivated during my time in Ireland…he was living somewhere in Prague the last time I heard."

"You know the one thing I don't understand?" Sam said, taking a swig of his beer.

"What?"

"How come the Irish name everything they own after themselves? Heck, open up the phone book and maybe every listing under 'McLoughlin' could be related to this!"

Sam had a point.

--

"Daddy!" the kids shouted, running over to me as they heard me come through the front door.

I crouched down as they flung themselves into my open arms.

"How was school today? Were you guys good for Grandma and Jenny today?" I asked, hugging them tight.

Connor and Ciaran began to rattle off the various things they did at school as Clare hung tightly to me. I could tell she was still having difficulty adjusting to everything that had happened the last two days.

"Dad?" Connor said, looking back up to me after he noticed I wasn't paying full attention to what he and his brother was saying.

"Yes, Connor."

"Tomorrow night is parent-teacher interviews…are you going to go alone now?"

Oh. I had forgotten that those damn interviews were the next day. Fi and I usually went each year and actually had a pretty good time meeting the kids' teachers and reviewing how they were doing in school. I was happy to report that all three kids had a natural knack when it came to school and enjoyed it much more than I (or Fi) ever did when we were younger.

"I'll be there."

Clare shifted in my embrace and tucked her head into the nook of my neck.

"Mommy's not going to see the special art project we made for our parents last week…"

"She'll see it, Clare-bear. I'll bring it home and we can hang it up so it's the first thing you can show her when she comes back, ok?" I said, soothingly.

Clare reluctantly nodded and turned in my arms.

"I miss Mom…" she whispered, "it's not the same if she doesn't pick us up from school…Grandma didn't know where to stand today…"

"We're all adjusting baby…and, Mom will be home really soon, ok?"

"I miss Mom, too…" Ciaran said, "where did she go?"

"Um, an old friend wanted to see her again…" I said, not totally lying to them.

"But you don't know where she is?" Connor asked.

"No, but we're going to find her—I promise," I said in my most reassuring voice. "Anything interesting happened at school today?" I asked, hoping to change the subject.

"Nothing much…" Conner said, sitting down on the couch and grabbing his backpack that was thrown haphazardly on top. "…but, I have a letter here that's for you," he said, taking out a manila envelope with MR. WESTEN written in sharpie across the front.

Alarmed, I took the envelope from him and turned it over several times. No other distinct marks.

"Where did you get this? Who gave this to you?"

"I dunno…" he said, shrugging. "We were waiting for Grandma to pick us up and since she was late, we went to play tetherball…when Grandma showed up, we went back to grab our bags and I saw the envelope on top of my bag…maybe it's from a teacher?"

"Maybe," I said, knowing full well it was not.

"Michael! Children! Dinner's ready!" Madeline shouted from the kitchen.

"Go wash your hands and I'll be at the table shortly."

The kids obediently headed towards the kitchen as I quickly opened up the sealed envelope.

Inside were a single photo and a piece of paper.

My heart stopped when I saw Fiona in the picture. She was tied down to a metal chair and had today's Miami Herald placed on her lap. It was your standard proof of life photo.

I examined the photo closely, hoping that something distinguishable would jump out to me.

Nothing.

I quickly remembered the sheet of paper that was enclosed.

**_A small present for you. Glenanne is fine. Let the plan run its course._**

I frowned. Another cryptic message.

There was something I had to do.

--

_Photographs are important tools in the spy trade. You need photos to establish identity, surveillance, patterns and plans. They're vital._

_Proof of life photos, on the other hand, can serve two purposes: One, it gives proof that a hostage is alive and two, gives the hostage an opportunity to pass along some type of message unbeknownst to the picture taker._

_There are many methods in getting such message across—from positioning your hands in a certain way or looking at the camera in a certain way. If the proof of life medium is a video, than you have an even greater chance in getting your message across._

_Spies are trained to use every opportunity they have to get the necessary message across. It could be a matter of life or death._

--

It was later that night and the kids in bed. I was back in my office, staring intently at the photo of Fiona.

She was sitting in a nondescript room that looked like a factory or a warehouse. Both arms were strapped to the arms of the metal chair. She was wearing the same jean shorts/halter top combination she was wearing when she left to go shopping with Clare (always a good sign) and was looking directly at the camera with a nonchalant face.

I knew that Fi would do everything she could to send a message to me if she could—but as I continued to look at the photo, I did not notice anything out of the ordinary.

None of this was making any sense to me.

What was Fi's connection with Danny McLoughlin? Was she involved with something that I wasn't aware of? Who were these guys that took her? What did they want from her? Why did they continue to use my children as messengers?

I banged my head against the table lightly. I hated not knowing the answers and feeling frustrated. There had to be a logical explanation for all of this—I just wasn't sure what that was.

I looked at the photo of Fi again. And then, I noticed something. Her left foot was pointing oddly to the side of the photo. I followed the direction her foot was pointing and realized what she was trying to point out.

On the corner of the photo, just barely noticeable on the ground was a discarded drink cup. The bottom was cut off by the camera, but you could scarcely make out half of the logo.

I grabbed a magnify glass from one of the desk drawers and took a closer look.

_Paco's Burgers and Tacos_

I had another lead.

**TBC**


End file.
